


JayLad

by WizzyPieHigh9



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Angst, Appendicitis, Appendixes, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Cliffhangers, Drowning, Fever, Fights, Gen, Hot, Hurt/Comfort, I wouldnt say that theres 'suicide mention' but there are some similar aspects to it, If you dont want to read that kind of narrative, Illnesses, Mental Health Issues, Pain, Sickfic, Triggers, Whump, Yea.. Jason's messed up... Lets fix that? SHALL WE?...., but... he'll get better. :), i CAN OFFICIALLY SAY THAT NOW.... ಠ⌣ಠ i feel soooo proud..., lonelyness, then please, your advised to skip and pass this story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21566563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizzyPieHigh9/pseuds/WizzyPieHigh9
Summary: It flippin' @#$% that, almost everyone in his life was against him weren't they? The hero's vs the enemy. Jason Todd, known as the Robin that fell from the nest too soon, or Red Hood the traitor. That was all his worth. A memory of the past, or a memory not worth remembering as it left a bad taste in your mouth. It was like a sequel to a really good movie. That Something, or someone could never be as good as the original.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 75





	1. "All the World ‘s a Stage"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred would be so disappointed. The tsks and vehement criticism could already be heard in his mind from the gallant old butler concerning his hygienic skills, and self-preservation skills. Or maybe it was more so the lack of caring about such matters that would be more so concerning than anything?

❤❤❤

Groaning against the throbs emanating from his stomach, he blinked hesitantly.

Eyesight still being askew, he forcefully blinked. Successful, there was a nauseatingly welcome of an all too familiar sight, darkness.

It was the darkness that followed him wherever his footsteps befell. It, with its darkened hue, twinkled a light dusting of stars followed by a large splash of flooded lights.

Those were probably lamp posts though. No need to be so poetic.

However, it was the little things in life.

Tonight, there seemed to be some sort of foreboding sense of doom looming above him, mocking him. What was new? It mocked him like an eerie laugh. A laugh that seemed to follow right behind those non-poetic shadows. Along with that, and the aches plaguing his body, was the reason he couldn't seem to sleep.

Throughout the night, an ongoing throb located in the lower right region of his body kept him awake. Also, the chills didn't help with sleeping either. It was the kind of chills that seemed to resonate in the marrow of your bones. No matter how many layers of clothing you could put on, it didn't go away. Although, not that there was many options for layers around him.

So all night - well for the last couple hour's since he retired to 'bed '- it had jumbled back and forth from being extremely chilled to aggravatingly warm. It was the same whish-wash feeling of getting in and out of the pool on a extremely hot day.

It was nonetheless very cold in here for the **moment** , so the irritating twinge must be from the lack of proper warmth **at the moment**. What he had - a couple of old bath towels - couldn't be providing THAT much heat. Bath towels were rather... itchy as well. Coupling all this with the fact that a good night sleep hadn't come to him as of late from nightmares; this wasn't terribly unexpected. His body was taxed. Soon he needed to find better sleeping arrangements. That much was obvious a while ago. It was improbable that he could sleep much longer exposed to the Gotham's winters. It wasn't even as cold as it would get as of yet.

It was so cold. Also, he was so so so desperate. So desperate, that he was about to sneak into the Manor to relax by a sure to be running fireplace. That was of course when Alfie was the only one home.

Laughing for even thinking at one point to stoop so low, he scowled as another stab of sharp pain jabbed him but again. Along with it, another chill that wracked at his burning skin was fought.

"@#$%! What's wrong with me?" He whispered through clenched teeth.

Nothing could be pinpointed as to what could be the matter with him. Earlier that night, before retreating to sleep, he checked the entire scope of his body -like he does every night to ensure he doesn't have to stop by Leslie's clinic- and found no new injuries, no new unusual bruising, nothing. So, nothing in 'theory' could explain the pain he was feeling right now. Especially the level of pain.

Going to bed he had been feeling fine and now, now he felt like @#$%.

Grimacing as the burning cramp refused to relinquish it's hold on his body, he tentatively rolled into a more semi-comfortable position. In doing so, his line of sight was towards the gaping hole right next to him. It was almost in arms reach. It brought in the most soothing bite of frigid air upon the flushed skin of his face. 

Breathing in the cold air coming in, the guess that this abandoned facility had to have been a fish canning factory was highly believable. Or maybe the funk residing in the place as of the moment was him deciding to delay in the partaking of a shower. That was at least until the fixing of Ms. Megreger's stove was done of course. Which would be tomorrow. Hopefully. Yes, another day another penny.

Alfred would be so disappointed. The tsks and vehement criticism could already be heard in his mind from the gallant old butler concerning his hygienic skills, and self-preservation skills. Or maybe it was more so the lack of caring about such matters that would be more so concerning than anything?

Shrugging such thoughts aside, he looked outwards at the Gotham's sky. In the end, he wasn't really a Wayne, nor even a Todd. Not just here in Gotham, but in all the surrounding areas that claimed itself as reminders to himself and the old man as the failure of the past.

The failure of someone who still lives.

The failure who seems nonexistent in the eyes of everyone.

Snubbing the tears trekking down his face, he crunched his fists as the smarting pain clenched his stomach again. Yet this time, it was more agonizing than the last.

Taking in slow breaths, his mind wandered onto why he was here in the first place. Normally his job was cleaning up crime alley. However, this particular case involved Gotham and Crime Alley combined. 

Don't worry Bats he had the rubber bullets. A special olive branch to the old man he supposed. Hm, however, it seemed that the only one holding that olive branch was him. A bit lopsided of a deal if ya ask him.

Working behind the scenes, in the background, or even in the dark of night, he wouldn't in his own Father's footsteps or in Bruce's follow. He was his own man or teenager you could really say, and the filthy work that Batman wouldn't bother his pointed ears to do he was going to do. Plus, since no one else in the Bat clan seemed to be all too interested in volunteering for the mess there was to clean, he did and is. Its not like he could do much of anything else anyway being declared 'officially dead' and all.

Curling into a fetal position, he wrapped his arms around his midriff willing the pain to stop. It was fortuitous that for all the places for him to be sick that it was here. This particular safe-haven was the one he liked the best. It was his favorite one. As depressing as it was to say, it was the most decent place he had. That was including the fact that it didn't have running water, electricity, or stable walls. Nonetheless, it was good. Good enough. The lights from across the street -even though they held a bitter reminder- it was close to where he at one time felt at home; at one time he felt like he HAD a home. It wasn't often that he could be found here. That was because, anywhere the bat was, anywhere in the shadows where you think you see something or someone, it was too close. Although, a visit was nice.

As much as he enjoyed, relished, and dreamed, that one day, he might be safe again. It was all wishful thinking, or rather lies that he told himself so he could sleep at night.

As some might say, it was too close for comfort.

Here in Gotham, -where the bat lives- he had to watch his back, had to remain alert, stay focused on to what or whom resided in the obscurity of the night.

He was tired.

He didn't what to be found.

He didn't think he would be dragged off to Arkham again.

Nonetheless he couldn't 'think', action was much more needed.

Too much thinking, had caused too much pain.

Maybe that is why he acted so rash when he came back from the dead. Well, the parts he remembered anyway.

Some bad choices were made on his part, however he wasn't completely in his right mind as of then. Not an excuse, but he still isn't completely sure that he's 'normal' yet. How normal could you get for once being dead?

Nonetheless, whatever happened, whatever he had to do, there was one thing that was **never** going to happen again.

He couldn't let anyone know where he was. The best thing to do was to remain as secretive as possible.

Just one slip might mean, he had to hear **him** again.

The noise.

The laughter.

The amusing chuckle of a clown rejoicing in the fact that a couple cells away you reside.

The person that he had once thought to be killed by his own hands, laughing so that he torments you.

Whispering all night words.

Fuzzy words mingled with cackling. Cackling that got beat out of him when the guards would get fed up with the nonsensical gibberish.

Words describing how he was to kill you again, but this time you would stay dead.

...

Every time he would read or watch the News detailing on how the Joker escaped or at rarity see the Joker himself, his insides would twist into a bitter knot. Breathing would hitch, and would come to a complete standstill. Even just thinking about it made him want to expel his insides out. Although he was pretty sure that right now it was for different reasons.

Even from miles upon miles away, Joker knew that he was there. There was some sort of a killer's instinct. Eyes that prowled upon him as he prowled back wondering if this was it? Was the Joker coming for his rightful due? His revenge?

That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that Joker wanted him gone. So that meant no where was safe. The Joker hadn't gotten his last laugh. It can only be hoped that he never would. Nonetheless, maybe it would be easier for everyone's sake if-

Shaking his head, something wet tore freely down his face. Hiccuping embarrassingly into the crook of his arm, he choked. He was so tired.

From the slippery sheet of ice that covered the rooftops, work from the last couple of days had been ruined all because he messed up. Retry he must, but he wasn't going to let the culprits get away with the scandal they were in. They were going to be stopped. Even if it was the last thing he would do. Metaphorically of course.

Innocent people weren't going to be let suffer anymore, that was something that he had vowed. It didn't matter if it was by Joker's hand or by some random punk off the street. _It wasn't going to continue._

With the limited information received, it must have been a bad source. Therefore it had been wrong and he got sent to the receiving end of a transport place. Thus stopping a shipment of illegal weapons too late. His luck. Payback had been a good smack down that had left him dangerously close to slipping off a slick building. That's when he lost sight of the perpetrators.

It wasn't good enough. He had to do better. He had to do more.

There was another shipment the very next day, and whether these people cared knowing that Red Hood would be there, they, in their bloodthirsty ways would go ahead and keep to their plan anyway. 

Groaning, his muscles twitched at the flashback of him gripping for dear life at the edge of the building.

It was already too late, and he had to be up in the morning. Better for him to put these thoughts aside and get some sleep. Or, get the best sleep one can obtain whilst feeling like roadkill.

Since being legally dead and all, it caused him to be unable to find a reputable job that would hire him with no questions asked. It was easy to lie about your name and all, but because no one could find him on their background record under his persona it was always a 'no'. Or at least until he signed in somewhere. He didn't remember where, but then again he really didn't care because, DEAD!

It's not like you could show up to a state license department and say,

"Hey so, I know I'm the legally dead kid of the Wayne's, but can ya help a guy out?"

Shivering at such public shame and attention, his stomach turned in flips. Instead he had been helping people out in the surrounding neighborhoods. This included doing laborious work such as mowing the lawn, raking leaves, trimming shrubs, fixing drains, washing siding, fixing appliances, etc. etc. etc. No, it didn't pay much, but it was infinitely preferable than to the other method.

It was however truly unfortunate because with his nightly and day-time routines, it hardly left him any time for sleep. Well, that is when he did get any sleep. Man, he would love to get his hand's on some sleeping pills. Especially now.

Groaning as another round of the stabbing commenced, he cursed.

How in the world did the pain reach this level of intensity? Wrapping the arms around his midsection tighter, he recalled something. In this evenings fight, the thugs did get a good whack on his abdomen. It was sure to have a bruise in the morning if it still hurts this bad. Scratch the sleeping pills, he'd die again for some ibuprofen.

Well, anyway, might as well attempt to go to sleep. Didn't want to make Ms. Megreger's wait too long on the usage of her stove.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his mind to sink to what he knew would be a dreadful dream-filled sleep. Particularly one of a certain crowbar dragging against the concrete following behind it a voice trailing not to far behind. A voice that not only lived in the nightmares of his mind, but in the everyday life that he lived as well.

...

"Oh,... Batsy-Watsy... Come on let's have some funnn...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Um,... do you want a poptart?...  
> *hands a poptart*  
> .  
> ..  
> ...  
> Here ya go... Have a snack and hopefully enjoy, or um... cry? 🙂  
> Also belated Happy Thanksgiving,... and if you don't celebrate Thanksgiving I wish you a very blessed day! 🦃
> 
> *I don't know who owns the picture of the poptart... I think maybe Pop-Tart© brand??? or google...*


	2. "All the Men and Women Merely Players"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Monster was coming.
> 
> Was always coming.

❤❤ ...

Groaning, trickles of sweat beaded down his face.

Backed up into a corner of an alley way, he was hiding from that **thing**.

No escape.

No where to run.

No where to hide.

Strength long since gone.

Panting, he glanced around in desperation. When would this end?

It was the same charade, every time, every night.

Shivering with an undue panic, he looked down with confidence as to what he was going to see.

That gun. The same gun.

Knowing the barrel was empty of any cartridges, it got tossed it aside in frustration. It would be useless this far along in the dream. The rubber bullets had been depleted rather quickly, and there were none left. Or at the rare times that there were some left, the Gun would malfunction upon firing. That is when he knows the nightmare was going to be worse.

That Monster was coming.

Was **always** coming.

With a hitch in his breath, he knew he had to try and stay calm. **It** was what was coming next. It was the anticipation that was typically the killer. Closing his eyes, sweat crept down his face.

There is no rest for the weary.

Blood pumping through his veins rang throughout his head.

Taking deep breaths that only amounted to small pants, he waited. Such small useless pants.

This dream has been reenacted far too many times to count.

Having lived through all the versions of his nightmares this turned out to be the most common one.

Was it even worth him liv-

Stopping his reprieve of thought. He heard **it**.

It had begun.

With his lungs drowning, he could only mumble a few curses at that despicable laughter. That laughter lived in his dreams and in his day to day life. That laughter had lived with him in the final moments of his death. In the moments in when he is still dead.

Oh @#$%.

This is what it feels like to be dead isn't it? This Hopelessness.

The loneliness.

Oh, he knows **so** well what it feels like to die, to live; but being dead-

Now he knows, that **this** is what that feels like. It is as if one is decomposing from the inside out.

Feeling hopeless in such a hopeless situation, he looked down but again.

Yep, as he knew.

Punching an arm into the brick wall behind him, he fought the shivering trembles of his frame. No longer did he care anymore.

Instead of wearing his usual leather jacket and kevlar costume, he now wore his Robin costume. Yea, he was probably a bit big to fit into the real one. Either he shrunk, or the costume had expanded -the one in his dream of course- Oh, and how nice, there was even a touch of blood dousing the whole entire thing. Lovely.

"Don't you think it adds just a bit of, I don't knowww a pop of cheer? Brightens the outfit up! It does seem to be your color after all?"

Bile ran up his throat.

"Oh, come here lil' birdie. Where are you? We aren't finished yet." The voice cooed sadly.

The vocal's in his throat constricted.

It was getting harder to breathe.

He needed to wake up.

With every hitch in his gasping breath, the maniacal laughter could be heard bouncing around in his mind. The foreboding sense of doom was becoming quite too clear as it resounded in the drag of a cold metal rod on a concrete pavement.

It was a sound he would never forget.

And it was getting closer.

Fleeing into a fight or flight panic he just knew he couldn't do this. Not again. Even though this was a dream, it was HIS dream. Even though he had lived through this almost a thousand times, he didn't have to live through it this time! It was his mind, so therefore it was in his control.

Closing his eyes, he fought to reality. Remember, the floor lying beneath you? The towels? The helmet just under the old chair in the corner of the room. Anything? Was anything enough to pull him to his senses?

With his blood begin to boil, a flash of desperation crashed over him.

"Aw, are we being a party pooper? I can fix that." The clown sighed with a audibly louder crack of the crowbar upon the pavement.

As desperate times call for desperate measures, he began to slap himself. Repeating it over and over, each ended with a resounding thwack. This caused his face to burn with such a strange fire that felt almost real at times. Good, perhaps this would hopefully wake him up.

"Awww, little birdie. Giving yourself a good ol' punching warmup for your old **pal**? You really shouldn't have. Really I mean it. Your good friend, the Joker, doesn't need any help, but I'm grateful. Believe me you. Gives you a chance to know of what's to come." The jesting voice spoke dancing silhouettes upon the walls as he gestured.

Then again, when had hope ever done him any good. Hope is exactly what had gotten him killed in the first place.

"@#$%," he muttered. It was only a matter of time.

Wanting to run, his feet stay put as if glued to the floor. How was he going to wake up?

"Aw... Wanting to leave sooo soon? And leave me and my friend Mr. Whacks all here by ourselves? That's not the proper way to treat your guests? I guess I'll just have to teach you some manners bird-boy."

Covering his ears, he allowed himself to listen to the sounds of his own breathing. In. Out. In. Out. This is just a dream. Your safe. This is just a dream. Your sa-

"Oh come on, lets have a heart to heart! Just you and me. The Joker and his lil' JayJay"

Sliding down against the wall, he wrapped his arms around his legs in a upright fetal position.

"Only, you're not quite so little anymore."

"But-" Hearing the Joker's signature giggle.

"That means we could have more fun."

Looking at the corner of the wall, the shadow grew closer as an approaching predator ready to meet his prey could be seen.

No, not the Joker.

Batman.

Once the shadow of the past came out of sight. There he was, the old man dressed as a bat. Only he was now holding a very distinct batarang.

That same batarang.

Oh how nice, this batarang, also seemed to have a nice touch of dripping blood.

Tendrils of exhaustion waved over his features causing his vision to blur. How could he be so tired when he was asleep?

Closing his eyes, he waited as he heard the Old Man's footsteps approach even closer.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Pause.

"Your a disappointment."

Ah, there it was. The same old, same old. Get on with it old man. He was very tired and very much so waiting to wake up, thank ya very much.

Clenching his fists, the seconds counted down.

"I wished I never adopted you."

Tik.

Just a little more.

Tik.

"I can't believe you. I raised you better."

Tik.

Wanting to argue. Wanting to scream, and shout. Wanting to yell, and tell ~~his da-~~ Bruce, that he's not dead. Tell him that hes still alive. Tell him that he doesn't need to be memorialized behind a glass wall with a plaque anymore. That he doesn't need to have flowers placed on his grave on the day of his death. However, what good would any of that do? If you can't fight with the B-man and win in real life, how can you expect to win an argument with a figment of Bruce and win? Now that's... insanity.

Tik.

"Jason, I-"

Tik-

Then, the old man was interrupted with such a well-known ear defeaning explosion. One that he had experienced every time he slept. No matter the type of nightmare he had. The eruption of flames about him was always the one true constant.

Opening his eyes now, Batman was now running away.

Leaving him, again.

Alone.

Reaching up to his neck, he was startled. There wasn't a batarang protruding the flesh of his neck?

Rather.

Feeling a strike of actual existent pain, he moaned hunching forward. Anguishing, he looked down to spot that the batarang was lodged in the right lower region of his midsection rather than its usual place. His neck.

Well that was unusual and rather painful.

At least the nightmare was almost over. Until next time of course.

Leaning against the wall, he untangled his mass of limbs blinking. The world felt hot as it began to turn to mush.

Lucid dreams were terribly real feeling.

In the thick cloud of the night there was now a comforting explosion of light and heat. It tickled upon his face with a wave of fire, dropping fast flickers of embers upon his face. It was actually hot. Hotter, than typical.

Turning his face towards the sparks the world around him turned into a fiery blaze and a sense of painful burning crossed his body.

This was a differing feeling, and that was scaring him. It felt like he was dying again, but for real. That can't be. This was just a dream. Dreams can't hurt you.

With sweat dripping down the expanse of his body, the blazing fire engulfed him. It started devouring him in an angry rage.

Choking on his air, it only left him in his thought's screaming.

He was dying. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration and ideas lie on this table:  
> ┬──┬ ノ( ゜-゜ノ)  
> ............
> 
> (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻
> 
> ~(˘▾˘~) And the process restarts over and over again until you have a story... (~˘▾˘)~


	3. "They have their Exits and their Entrances"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panting heavily, he hoped he currently wasn't throwing up on someone's head. That would be something he could never live down. The conversation following such an occurrence was rather unimaginable too. 'Sorry' certainly wasn't going to cut it.

❤ ... ...

Waking up with a pained gasp, a tugging at his stomach caused him to hurriedly kick off his 'covers' scattering them to the side. Charging his way to where the broken window was, he cupped his hand over his mouth in fear that he wouldn't make it. Moaning, a pinch from the corner of his stomach regrettably reacquainted himself to last nights dinner just like the splattering of paint onto the sidewalk below him.

Ugh, great.

So many colors... Yes his brain definitely needed to vocalize those thoughts.

Surely ones insides couldn't be that colorful ya know. Stupid granola bars. Freakin' toxic. No more Trix cereal bar's for him... Fan-fudging monstrositys.

Thinking grimly, he thought about how the golden boy's insides must be caked in this sort of garbage.

Also with an added dash of @#$% and sprinkles, it matched his personality per- "Urgh." he moaned while his stomach swished with a rising tide ready to knock Aqua man out. 

Cringing, another twinge hurriedly caused him to empty the remaining acid in his stomach.

Blerugh, this was awful.

There went his two dollars down the drain. Or that was more so onto the sidewalk. Second to worse thing he had ever spent two dollars on. The first being a ham sandwich from a gas station. Now that led to one full week of food poisoning. At least the Gas station bathroom had nice cold floors. Right now he was just hot.

Leaning heavily against the window pane, he tried his best to avoid the splintered glass as more swells of queasiness hit him. That was a terrible dream wasn't it? Probably gonna dream that til' the day he died. With his track-record as of the moment that wouldn't be too much further away. Again not wishing for death, just seemed to follow him.

Panting heavily, he hoped he currently wasn't throwing up on someone's head. That would be something he could never live down. The conversation following such an occurrence was rather unimaginable too. 'Sorry' certainly wasn't going to cut it.

Smirking at the situation he was placed in. It reminded him of how Pigeons would leave their 'presence' all over the city; particularly on cars and on rooftops. Well here he was now, a former bird, leaving his presence in the form of a puddle of sick spewed down from a two-story building. It was almost assuredly not the first time. Probably wouldn't even be the last time.

Oh my, just look how far he has come.

If had a quarter for every time life had @#$% him over, well he would have enough money to buy Wayne manor and burn it into the ground. Right into the ashes that place belongs.

Speak about life blowing him over, living with Bruce really did a number on him didn't it? Bruce, filling him with hope. The sadistic @#$%.

Looking up towards the sky he could see that it was well past noon.

"@#$%. It's late."

Eck, throwing up was the worse.

Rubbing his eyes, he knew that it was unlikely for anyone to be looking this way. However it would be best that he quickly duck in, he did not want to be assumed as some random drug addict. That's definitely not a title he wanted to be known as. This guy will be remaining clean thank you very much.

Nevertheless, a pain killer wouldn't hurt right about now. Also maybe some water, he was as thirsty as Tim when he was being salty as a GothDonald's fry. Seriously, the kid without his coffee was terrifying.

Closing his eyes, the cold air washing over his sweaty face felt nice. As his stomach continued to roll he pinched a face.

Oh for @#$% sake, this was just miserable. **This** reminded him of the 'I'm food poisoned' days. Now he sticks to only packaged foods by the way.

Sighing, he swayed slightly on wobbling legs. With his stomach grumbling - from both discomfort and hunger - he knew he probably couldn't keep it down, but Alfred's chicken soup sounded really good right about now. In fact any decent food sounded really good right now. Though, his stomach was as empty as his pockets at the moment. Hence why he was currently being a rabbit throwing up Trix cereal. Huh, guess Trix was just for kids. Maybe that's why Dick still ate them.

In the recent months of his uncertain employment -mostly due to the cold weather-, he had lost some weight. Of course not skeletal by any means, thank goodness. However, he was definitely at the bar of 'underweight.' In addition to losing weight, he had lost the entirety of his additional muscle mass since returning to Gotham. That could in part be from the lack of food, but it was more so by the lack of supplementary steroid's Talia had been sneaking in his food. Which, he was livid to find out about.

Let's just say that, **that** was never happening again. Just thinking about the withdrawal symptoms were bad enough. That was definitely worse than the 'food poisoning days'.

However, he did miss his lanky frame being bulged with muscles that made him look anything but the age he was.

...

Great! Well Anyway.

Of all the time's in his life to be sick, did it really for @#$% sake have to be now?

If he didn't stop the weapon traffickers here and now, who knows if he would ever get the right sources again to stop them. Just thinking about all those lives that could potentially be killed by the hands of other people if this one measly shipment didn't get canceled made his furious. Groaning, his temple throbed in frustration. It wasn't like he could ask anyone to cover for him. He had no one. Downsides of being a one man band.

...

Yes, 'mayonnaise' was indeed an instrument his feverish brain seemed to pop out of no where. Out of all the decency in life no one can convince him otherwise. Almost laughing, he wondered briefly what Damian's reaction to that would be. That little vermin would probably stick his nose all haughty like and insist that he, 'Todd' was being foolish.

Brat. The little twerp doesn't know the life lessons that Sponge Bob provides. Dick is probably forcing him to watch The Little Pony.

...

Shrugging back to reality, he moaned. The only good thing about being sick was that at least he wouldn't be so flipping hungry. Nonetheless, that came with a side of it's own consequences.

Standing there, his stability was steadily draining and the pressure in his stomach was increasing more by the minute. Also, he was @#$% hot, like super warm. How could it be so warm when there was literal snow frost sitting on his bare skin?!?!

This surely couldn't be the flu could it?

"@#$%"

A wheeze escaped his lungs as he slid to the floor with a thud. Leslie had insisted that he take a flu shot, and that he did. Nonetheless, that meant near to nothing in Gotham now did it? Mostly because Gotham was a filthy murk of nastiness, particularly in the side of Gotham he was in. Who knows what he gets exposed to on a daily basis during his 'heroic' duties?

Yet, this was either a beginning taste of one @#$% flu, or something more deadly.

A Gatorade sounded lovely right about now.

Taking a deep breath, he sighed. He didn't really want to do this, but suspicions needed to be confirmed.

Probing the area where his stomach hurt the most, he folded over in blinding pain as the pain increased tenfold. Okay. Yep.

"Oh @#$%!"

Seething, he rolled his eyes. "Well that's just great..."

He was expecting pain, but this? This wasn't good. Wasn't good at all.

There was no time for this.

Plus he was not stupid ya know.

...

He knows where an appendix is located.

* * *

Ok, he had a couple of more hours until he needed to go get serious help. By 'serious help' he meant going to Leslie's for antibiotics. Definitely could make it. Just needed to work the timing out that's all. A bed sounded nice for a change.

Guess he would just have suck it up till then.

Plus, he hadn't expected the Lazarus Pit to have literally regrown his freakin' appendix. What's next his tonsils? His appendix had been taken out years ago with,..wi- 'him'. Actually it had been the first time witnessing Bruce so frantic. Looking back on it, it was quite the hilarious experience. Nonetheless, one that he wasn't looking to reliving again.

Not the smartest of plans granted. Leslie was definitely going to kill him if his appendix doesn't burst first. Nonetheless, it was the only plan he had at the moment considering the fact he had unfinished business to attend to. He just hoped that the stakeout wouldn't be too long. The tolerance he had for these cramps was steadily draining. However it was only forty minute's until patrol considering how late he had arrived at Ms. Megreger's house. So, he was close to going on patrol, beating some bad guys, and going to Leslie's. It was actually nearing on midnight, so it was definitely dark outside. Fortunately, he had hid his helmet and jacket in the nearby hollow of a tree so that he didn't have to waste time going back to his 'den'.

He was not looking forward to wearing his leather jacket. It was so @#$%-@#$% hot.

Upon arrival, it made him feel terrible when he saw that Ms. Megregor's bulky frame was shivering while being wrapped in a heap of sweaters. She had been waiting all this time for him to come and fix the stove! His creditably had definitely been diminished considering all this woman had as a heater was her stove! It would be fortunate if she ever hired him again, especially so in knowing her personality. Fortunately, when he had told her of his situation with sleeping late she seemed to understand by telling him to get to work.

Death in a controllable situation by his own hands, didn't frighten him. In fact, right now it was quite welcoming as he was kneeling on the floor fixing Ms. Megreger's stove. It seemed as though his stomach had swelled to the size of a balloon in the last couple of hours since he had woken up. That couldn't be good.

Tinkering with the last bolt on the stove he jumped in surprise -ouch- when a hand brushed over his face.

"You ta have a fever." The Scottish Lady tsked in disapproval.

"Its not surprising." He mumbled gently pulling away from her hand. 

He rather not be mother henned at this point. It would be all too easy to slip into the haze of pain, nevertheless he had a job to do. A job that he would rather get done quickly. Very quickly.

"You should aye be in bed resting dearie." She pushed on forward, now slipping a container into his hands.

Looking down, he saw that it was a container of soup. Wincing at a stomach cramp, he inspected it even closer. It looked like potato and leek soup.

"Ms. Megr-"

"No, I insist. Go mi'love, and get a bit wee of rest. I wouldnae letcha a come with such a terrible cold." She said shuffling a fifty in the palms of his hands.

Gawking at such an amount, he was shushed and then promptly shuffled out the door. Not until of course he was donned with an extra scarf around his neck much to his unusual displeasure at the warmth.

"Tis is chilly tonight." Ms. Megregor said with a wave as he walked out of her sight into an alley way to the ports.

Now, he had work to do.

* * *

OK.

Left kick.

Right kick.

Left kick.

Right kick.

Right kick? NO! Left kick!

Jason you can do this.

Definitely could do this.

Come on. Keep going!

Groaning, he almost threw up mid kick.

Ok, maybe a little less confidence and a lot more fighting.

As more chumps slithered their way from outta nowhere he cursed. Man, where do all of these @#$% keep coming from?

Okay, since when had he swallowed the football of all Mother footballs. He would like to know so that he could return it.

Oh shoot, no time for distractions.

Throwing an oblique kick, he brought two thugs to their feet as another one approached him with a baseball bat.

Oh @#$% it was so hot for it being... what? The thirties?

Jeez, with this shipment of guns. Ya'd think that these guy's would use some them. Fortunate for him, he's dealing with a whole lot of dolts.

Swinging a roundhouse kick he knocked the bat out Mr. Fathead's hand. Then taking him by surprise he punted the guys peanut brain with his foot.

A lot of strong dolts, but stupid nonetheless.

Rubber bullets had been used, but they hadn't been enough. These guys had eaten em' up like they were candy. It was going to be a @#$% of a time procuring new bullets.

He really didn't want to continue fighting one on one with these guys. Up till this point he had been ignoring the pain in his side. Nonetheless, it had gotten worse and he was quivering so badly that most of his throws were lopsided. If he misses that's the end of it.

Arriving just when the shipment cargo was being loaded unto a flatbed truck didn't help matters either. However, there wasn't much to be done when he had been hobbling at the rate he had been walking.

So far he had taken down at least twenty guys, but they kept on coming.

Gasping for air, his lungs constricted. Ducking behind a vehicle he wheezed and threw up on the ground.

Blood?

Jeez, these people sure were brutes.

Taking a breather, an onslaught of more thugs passed his way. Probably on the lookout for him.

Great whether he liked it or not 'one on one combat' here he comes.

Sneaking from behind, he pulled at least five guys back one by one without suspect. They were rendered perfectly unconscious without a problem. That was until the other five took note and began to charge him.

Well great scott of all @#$%!

Grimacing at every lunge, kick and punch he threw there way, a voice interrupted his charade.

"Hey, Lil Wing. Don't often see you on this side of town."

In shock, he got sucker punched right in the jaw. Great. How lovely. He can be expecting a nice shade of green to accompany his eyes.

"See I told you he was useless." A demon in the back whispered while he regained his balance.

Smattering the jerks face with a hooking punch, he watched as the beast went down.

"Well ya see no one @#$% asked you ya spawn." He retorted as blood dripped onto his hand.

@#$%, he bit his lip.

"At least he doesn't try to kill you Hood!"

Looking over he could see the replacement using his baton as an effect thug swatter.

"Well what the @#$%! Are all of you rodents here?" He griped while punching another guys teeth out.

Oof, he hoped the guy had some dental care. If not, his new nicknames 'Gummie'.

"Technically bat's aren't rodents Red..." He heard 'Mr. I wear spandex with no shame' yell over his way.

"Well I don't give a @#$% c-"

"Furthermore, were Bird's. We aren't even b-"

"I don't care!" he griped as he soccer kicks a guy in the ribs.

Umpfh, these kick's are really working that building nausea... Watch out Superman, didn't think the man of steel could even hold back the geyser of puke incoming.

"Come on Jay! Just having some fu-"

"Nightwing names!" A grumbled bat echoed.

Oh boy. It was 'Mr. I support Party city' himself.

So, the whole bat-gang was here, huh? How, delightful...

Oh, why was everything looking just like a blob of jello right about now? Maybe that was just from his shaking legs. Also, had he noticed it before? It was stinking hot... Like SUPER hot. 

Fighting a few more rounds with sweat dripping down his face, he brought down a few more thugs when a Macho man sauntered his way towards him. Oh @#$%, was this like one of those Mafia leaders or something. The man did surely fit the bill and all, with the gold rings and a billed bowler hat. Was it the 90's or something? Was he and Bruce shopping at the same store? Anyways, this guy, he had a good bit of brawn on him. He didn't think that he could take down such a big guy by himself so easily on a good day, but on a bad day... No way. Heading for the guys head he was stopped as the goon hit him right in the abdomen.

Holy @#$%!

This guy apparently had a good eye for weak spots.

Crying out, the guy kept hitting and kicking him slurring out a string of profanity that was making even him blush.

Trying to get a grip and fight back, he swung wildly at his perpetrator. This only proved to make him angrier. Who figured?

Jeez, this guy was @#$%, and drunk too. Him being here had evidently ruined his night. The guy also seemed to think that he had brought the bats with him. No, ya big dummy they just follow him. Unfortunately... 

Man, he wished he could use rubber bullets right now. His fighting skill weren't top notch at the moment.

Trying his best to stay upright, he was finding it difficult to take a breath in.

Oh shoot. Oh @#$%. He couldn't even see. Jabbing the perpetrator in the head, he was taken advantage of and shoved backwards. Therefore causing him to-

Sink?

Oh @#$%! He was sinking!

He didn't think he was that close to the edge!

Splashing blindly, he pushed himself up to propel himself out of the water. Nonetheless, he was being held down by something.

Gasping for air, he instead got an inhalation of cold icy water.

Oh @#$% he was drowning.

He was going to die.

He was going to turn into a freakin' ice cube!

Reaching his arms up, his stomach twisted causing him to lose connection between the mind and body.

Having his limp arms swatted away by that impermeable force, his helmet slowly began to fill with liquid. 

Shoot. He knew he should have waterproofed it.

...

Oh for goodness sake... he was dying... And the day had started out so great too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think... I think .. im uh... zZZzzZZzzz  
> *falls asleep*
> 
> *I don't think I have the endurance to reread this and check for errors... *
> 
> .... OK OCD... come back to bite meh tomorrow... (･.◤)


	4. "And One Man in his Time Plays many Parts"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go bug someone else's life. Just let mine go.

... ... ...

In the deep sludge that his mind was swimming in, copious thoughts enthralled him.

There were so many questions such as: Where was he? Why was he here? How did he get here? And...

Where was his helmet?

You know, the most important questions that a person asks while in a state of utter disarray and potential delight at the prospect of their termination.

Ya know the typical.

He didn't remember dyi-  
Oh, wait yeah he did didn't he?

_"Jason, wak-"_

Dying had seemed rather peaceful this time.

To be honest it had all been rather fuzzy. 

That's fun.

_"-he's not bre-"_

Drowning. Now that's the real funny bit. If he could laugh, he would. The last time he died, he died by fire. Now he was dead but again. However this time, it was by the inhalation of water that he had come to meet his demise. It comes full circle doesn't it? However, it all ends the same ya know, the lack of oxygen.

This is what it must feel like when everyone dies. 

_"-breath you idio-"_

Too much about his previous death was left unremembered. Now, he would never remember it. Maybe that was for the best nonetheless though.

However, that @#$% mob boss better not have taken his helmet. He will come back as a ghost and personally haunt the corn dogs out of him for the rest of his life if he took his helmet as an everloving trophy.

_"-igh feve-"_

It was dark with muddled splashes of light. Bubbles still seemed to be exiting out of his mouth as he was swept away in a tide of bright blue. This was the most relaxing that it had been in a while. It was like he was drifting away on a cloud in a sea of nothingness. With waves crashing over him, he could hear faint yelling in the distance. Nevertheless, with the waves of sea foam washing over his face he could see a mirage of a beach.

Peace. It laid ahead.

It was a longing for him to feel the warm sand coating his body comforting him like a blanket. To only have sand wedge up between his toes and dirtying his hair would have been a relief. Lastly as a desperation, it was a peace to leave the crashing twists that life had been throwing his way.

Was this what death was like? Was death like a hallucination of a desert; calling out to you as your life sources were running dry.

Almost time then for, eternal rest.

It was a surprisingly welcomed thought.

_"-his stom-"_

It was now truer said then ever that "Life was but a shadow, a poor player..." Life had indeed made him to be a poor player that had strutted and fretted his time upon the stage of his existence. He was not to be heard no more. A life full of choices that had been made -many made by him and many out of his own hand-, had led his life full of sound and fury. It was true, his life story was told by him, the idiot. In the end it had all signified nothing.

Even when life had spitted him out of its mouth re-birthing him to a new chance at life, it had been squandered. Wasted.

Would death even accept him at this point?

Swimming in a float like trance, he fought his way to shore.

An effort to try was something he would do.

_"Oh @#$%. Stay with us Jaybi-"_

Would anyone remember the things that he had tried to do? The good things. Or would all the bad that he had done be his only remembrance in the eyes of Bruce, Goldie-locks, the replacement and squirt? It was hoped that the good things that he had tried to do wouldn't be lost in his death.

It couldn't be said that he didn't try, right?

It would be so like Bruce to set another glass memorial for him depicting his Red Hood costume. It was a offending memory that ought to be drowned with him.

Forget ghosting the Boss man, he would sure as Hades itself haunt Bruce for that alone. Also, No Damian you can not have his gun set. And no rooting through his stuff like a treasure trove, Tim and Dick. Goodness were those two like @#$% twelve?

...

They- he, he was going to miss them actually.

Would anyone even find his body? Surely everyone was too focused on what they were doing to be noticing the scene that was unfolding. It wasn't like he actually mattered. Well, maybe he mattered to Alfred. Everyone seemed to matter to Alfred though.

"Sorry Alfred," He muttered catching his breath as he broke the surface of the ocean water.

If there was one everlasting regret, it was the fact he couldn't say goodbye to Alfie... He was a good grandfather. Also, another regret. He didn't write a will. The helmet was a goner for sure by someones sticky fingers.

It seems to be that he is drowning.

Whoop. Big deal.

He had been drowning long before this point and nobody had noticed. So why should anyone care right now? Especially himself.

_"-chest compressio-"_

Please, let this be over soon.

Swimming to shore, he kept fighting a tide that was pulling him away from his goal. It was like the waves were beckoning for him to stay. They were calling him by name. They were holding him back.

However, he was the man rejecting the life preserver. Why should he take it when there were so many other more needing people that deserved it.

In a twist, death could even be bitter towards your dying.

Why...

Why was life being cruel?

Life should be giving up on him, not giving him yet again another chance. Especially when he didn't flippin' want it.

Go bug someone else's life. Just let mine go.

Arching forward it was like a tide pool was swarming around him sweeping him into the recesses of its darkness.

Still fighting it, he was only dragged down further.

"No," he cried to the torrential flow of water, "Don't take me back... I'm- I'm done..." He whispered to himself as everything was turning to nothing.

The body that encased his mind was done. So done.

This life was flipping to the flip tiring.

All the few too little wins, all of the abundant too many losses...

Frolicking upon the stage for long enough, there were no more parts for him to play. The role for an orphan, a dead Robin, and undead Robin, a monster, a messed up human being, the Hood, they had already been fulfilled.

The Curtain had to close, and it was time for the player to take its final bow...

Being ready, it evidently seemed that life was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The END!*
> 
> *Not


	5. The Final Act?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It flippin' @#$% that, almost everyone in his life was against him weren't they? The hero's vs the enemy. Jason Todd, known as the Robin that fell from the nest too soon, or Red Hood the traitor. That was all his worth. A memory of the past, or a memory not worth remembering as it left a bad taste in your mouth. It was like a sequel to a really good movie. That Something, or someone could never be as good as the original.

... ... ...

No. Please.

The laughter was so close the back of his neck tickled in an anxious fury.

Not this @#$% again.

Shoot. 

Literally.

Right now, all he could think about was reaching the gun dangled from the edged fingers of his grasp. Control, it ached after him. It echoed after him as it pumped in his veins through waves. Though, it all seemingly faded away like a dream. Washing away like a tide on a island of his own making. Tugging at his pinned form, the batarangs -the ones securing him to the wall- tightened leaving him unable to reach what was once so close to his grasp. Heaving, something pinched tighter around his already busted ribs leaving him open to being slammed back against the wall. Wincing as something in his wrist obviously popped, he looked down. Oh, how about that? Some extra securing ropes seemed to have just... 'appeared'. Just for little ol' him. Fan-fudging-tastic.

Biting his lip in anticipation, the pungent smell of gasoline hit his senses so quickly causing a dry retch to bubble up his throat. Puddling around his ankles, the gas licked against his skin in a taunting passion, burning. The tattering remains of his uniform clung to the sticky perspiration of his flesh, itching. And his mind, it shivered in its fuel enraged feverish haze, frightened.

Sucking in a choked gasp, his throat filled with a burning fire that tasted much like salt water. Could be the drowning his mind supplied, or, tasting the salty disdain of his emotions his chest rattled, tears.

Flinging forward, he fell back against the wall with a strangled thud and shriek.

Why him? 

Looking up, he squeezed his wrists against the restraints. Oh dear God, if your listening, why?

Pulling and tugging on the restraints, a sob fluttered out on accident. It was always the same ol' @#$%!

Witnessing the batarangs dig deeper into the yellow lining of his cape, he took several deep breaths sensing the familiar wave of panic creep up over him.

Perhaps, he deserved this. All of this. Every stinking last bit. 

All villains did deserve their tragic ending. A bit dramatic of course, but who was he to talk considering how he had first died.

H-he was... dying. 

@#$%, he was dying.

...

He would be dead.

At last?

Villains.  
They always seem depicted as ones who choose their fate, made decisions that led them to the irredeemable end of their existence. However, did they ALL really though? Of course, not that he was vouching for villains or supposing that anything that anyone of those @#$% did was forgivable, but considering the fine line between hero and villain he walked he often questioned. 

Supposed he didn't really want to be 'bad'. Heaven knows that he wouldn't be out doing what he was doing every night, every day, just to be the 'bad' guy. 

This, was the pits fault. The pit, it had distorted everything in his life, made him angry...'ier'. Still did. And, whatever the pit did was in turn still his fault. Or, that's at least what the Bat's thought. Actions do have consequences, but its not like he really... no.. he.. didn't mean to. How could he even promise that he has no recollection of using actual bullets to the big ol' bat? He wouldn't be believed. Nor is he ever 'believed'. The Bat's philosophy is to ship their mortal enemy off to Arkham and ask questions later.

Shaking at the restraints again, an invisible force of his @#$%-fueled nightmare held him back, as it whistled hollowly.

Every run in with the Bats, he literally runs. No matter how friendly they all seem. No matter how much of a @#$%-eating grin they toss his way it was all lies. As long as there was a chance, even the sliver of a chance, he doesn't... HE WOULDN'T be taken back to Arkham. **Never again.**

Seeing green, he whined miserable. Why couldn't he have just died? This would have been made so much easier. Why couldn't he have just stayed dead? Or was he?

It flippin' @#$% that, almost everyone in his life was against him weren't they? The hero's vs the enemy. Jason Todd, known as the Robin that fell from the nest too soon, or Red Hood the traitor. That was all his worth. A memory of the past, or a memory not worth remembering as it left a bad taste in your mouth. It was like a sequel to a really good movie. That Something, or someone could never be as good as the original.

Hey, how could he expect to have his 'family' on his side when even his mind was against him. With him running around like a complete chaotic nut case when he came back from the dead, heh, he would have thrown the batarang at his neck too.

Although, he would not have missed.

...

Just...

When would it all end?

The suffering.

What was the point to all of this? What was the point of 'his' life? 

The dragging sound of the crowbar grew louder. 

Alone. So Alone.

"So we meet again..." The sinister voice spoke, following with it a chuckle. "But we ALWAYS do! So why should that really come as a surprise by nowww little birdie."

Clenching his fists, he absentmindedly dropped the gun. It echoed upon his ears with a clink and a blast as it fired with a bang. Violently shivering against the grating upon his ears his head pounded. This must be some sick sadistic joke by his @#$%-up brain. 

"AH, HA HA HA! ... Little Birdie, ya outta be careful. Carefulll. Carefullll! wouldn't want to make this night a real 'Gas' would we little Red?" " The Joke fell dead, as it giggled. 

The Gasoline luckily didn't set off from the gun shot blast. Although, not that it really mattered.

"All you bats are SO... incredibly dull. Pathetic really." The crowbar slowly etched in a screech as it slowly became accompanied by an incoming figure from the encroaching fog. "Perhaps, old Joker here outta teach ya the 'ropes'."

Times like these, some grown-@#$%-men may be on their hands and knees begging.

"GET it? 'Ropes?'" The maniac squealed with an unearthly laughter dying out to a slowly echoing chuckle. 

Personally, he had seen it one two many times as he held a pistol to someones chest, demanding information for some case or another. Typically, it would end in them crying for their mama-

"No, I'm sure you would just get 'tied' up. Perhaps-"

-but him, he just wanted,...

"I should have taught you better." The figure spoke descending out of the fog.

Batman.

...

"Dad."

* * *

  
Jason's hands clenched tighter in his own.

This was a terrible mess. 

Slouched forward, he ran a hand through his hair. Fourteen hours.

Only Fourteen hours since this whole nightmare had started; for every second of it, he wished he could justify going back in time to stop this from occurring. What exactly had Jason been thinking when he had gone out on patrol in this condition? What had Jason been thinking when he hadn't gone for help? 

Fortunately -with Alfred's insistence of course- he had been able to take a shower, get dressed, and overall look 'alive' again. Which, felt great, but was severely regretted. For the moment he stepped a foot into Jason's old bedroom it was terror. For Jason had been in the throes of a nightmarish realm, to which not even the octopus that was Richard could comfort him from. So here he was, the only one who could apparently provide some leverage of comfort. So this is where he had stayed - and belonged-, and had continued to be for the past several hours.

At this point, he didn't even know if Batman was going to make it to patrol tonight, or if Bruce Wayne was going to make it to the three o'clock meeting. It didn't matter to him at the moment. Let them wait, let them all wait, because right now somebody needed him more than the Wayne foundation needed Brucie or Gotham needed the Batman. And sure as @#$% he was going to be here. This time, and from now on he would be here. Where he needed to be, as a Father should be.

Let alone what Jason was thinking, but what was he thinking? Letting Jason live out on the streets like this. For goodness sakes, Jason was only seventeen. Granted, almost eighteen if his calculations were correct, but still underage. Still in a need of a legal guardian, a parent. Someone who would be there. Hey, Richard still needed him so age eighteen wasn't a deadline.

Rubbing his thumb over just one of the many bandages Alfred had plastered on Jason's fingers, he rubbed his eyes with the corner of his shoulder. He needed to be strong, needed to be here, but, he also needed Jason to be okay. They were so fortunate that Jason had even pulled through. With the appendix bursting upon arrival, secondary drowning, and the Peritonitis that developed. It was a wonder that Jason didn't die, again. 

Jaso- His **son** was dying, and didn't reach out for help. 

_Turning around at the death-curdling scream, a panic set in as he instinctively slugged the guy in the face. Okay, that would probably lose the police the dental records. Ouch.  
_

_With all the screams and shouting going on you would think he would not be able to tell. However, that scream. It was one of his boys. But which one?_

_Looking around with typical tactics, he threw a batarang taking note. Richard, at 4 o'clock. Punch. Left Kick. Damian, twelve o'clock. Lunge. Play Bowling ball. Tim, 7 o'clock. Strike! Right punch. Jason, He was-_

_Spinning around in a fluid motion he watched the unfolding scene as Mr. Tae pushed Jason right off the pier ledge into the harbor itself. Squinting his eyes through his mask, he ducked under a baseball bat swing. Not evidently dangerous at first glance. However- Jason wasn't coming back up._

_Flickering between Richard, Mr. Tae, and the wanna-be hulk, he pressed the comm ramming the toothpick of a man down. "Night Wing, your on watch out. Keep an eye on Robin."_

_"Father-" A voice interceded._

_"Names in the field Robin."_

_"Right, 'Batman'. I'm perfectly capable of-"_

_"I am 'perfectly' aware of what you are capable of. That is what concerns me."_

_"Whats going on B?"_

_"Trouble with Ja- Red Hood." He seethed as one of the goons got a good kick at his lower thigh. That was going to sting tomorrow._

_Pushing the goons out of his way, he tossed a smoke bomb sneaking his way over to the dock. Just what was going o- Pausing he noticed Mr. Tae laughing? Drunkenly so._

_Dealing with drunks were -to say in the least- unpleasant. He didn't want to burn another costume...  
_

_Striding over he pulled the back of the Ring leaders collar with no hesitation. This caused something to slip and slosh into the water._

_Cursing, he aimed a boot at the guys head, knocking his drunk @#$% unconscious._

_"Back up. Now. Pier. " He pressed the side of his comm before diving into the sludge know as 'clean water'._

_Swimming down he felt around. It was useless, it was far too dark and Hood had slipped down to past his level of sight. Grumbling, he reached the surface taking another breath of air. Placing a rebreather in his mouth, he dove back down before turning on a underwater light._

_Heading down, something shiny and red sparkled. Immediately pulling Jason to the surface, he couldn't help but take note of the cracked helmet._

_Concussion, his mind supplied._

_That blasted helmet, he couldn't even put a rebreather on Jay.  
_

_Nightwing gasped when they both broke through the waters surface. Jason remained limp as Richard, -with Tim's help- pulled Jason to the pier._

_Reaching the deck himself, he took inventory of the quiet surroundings. "Call Gordan, they can take care of the rest."_

_"But Fath-"_

_"Robin call the Batmobile. No, your not driving." He supplied hoping to distract the boy for a bit at he tugged at the helmet. Just how did this thing- There._

_Water spewed out as it unlatched._

_@#$%. Slapping the side of Jason's face lightly, he took note that there wasn't any indication of breathing coming back naturally._

_"He's not breathing."_

_Checking his pulse, Richard knelt beginning to perform CPR._

_"Red, I want you to call Gordan and get Leslie on the line. See if she has any space available tonight."_

_"But What about the cav-"_

_"I said now Tim."_

_Wincing at the sharpness of his own tone, he ignored it for now reminding himself to apologize later. Meanwhile, he began to rub up and down Jason's arms and legs to warm him._

_Richard came up for breath as Jason coughed sputtering._

_"There we go. Wait no... there we don't go."_

_Watching concerned as Jason wasn't taking in anymore oxygen, he forced Jason's eyelids open. Definitely a concussion.  
_

_"Jason wake up, come on." He gritted Patting his son's face again as the batmobile came roaring around the corner._

_Obviously Damian didn't listen..._

_Damian slithered out the drivers seat running over. "Father? Why is he not awake?" He would talk to the boy later about not following instructions, but for now he kept his focus on Jason._

_"I don't see any blockage." Richard said looking in Jason's mouth. "Though it is dark."_

_Watching as Richard began CPR again, he moved to perform chest compressions grimacing as he heard one of Jason's ribs crack. Shoot._

_"Leslie says she has an openin-"_

_"Forget it." He said pausing. "Tell her we have no time and to come to the Cave. Code Red" Bruce says getting one arm under Jason's legs and the other under his neck. "Open the door."_

_Furrowing his brows, he looked down with concern. It was way too noticeable at how light Jason was for a seventeen year old, especially with all the gear the boy had on._

_Sliding Jason in the backseat he held the lolling head firmly. "Damian come sit here in the back. Hold his head. No. Like this."  
_

_Helping Damian to sit with Jason's head in his lap, he brushed some of the wet hair from Jason's forehead back. "Try not to let him jostle." He mentions getting in the driver seat as Richard climbs in the back continuing CPR. Tim simply gets in the back as well to help hold Jason in place at his feet._

_"Your bike?"_

_The engine starts as he puts the batmobile into drive._

_"It can wait." Tim said hurried._

_Grunting, he went at full speed on auto drive._

_"Breath you idiot." Damian grumbles._

_He could not help but to concur with Damian's ... unorthodox sentiment. Breath Jason. Please._

_Riding a few minutes in an breathless silence, they entered one of the few tunnels leading to the batcave. Hearing a gasp, Richard pulled back hitting the back of the drivers seat on accident. He couldn't help but sigh. Thank you God._

_"There we go!" Richard exclaimed turning Jason's head to the side as some more inhaled water came up._

_"_ _Hey, Bruce." Tim said._

_Looking at the mirror, he watched as Tim gave a worried look. "He has a really high fever."_

_"Come up front."_

_"But-"_

_"I'm not taking any risks with your spleen. Come up front. Richard can handle it."_

_With Tim doing so, he turned around in his seat. "Report?" He asked looking at the back of his eldest son's head._

_"B... I don't know. Besides the drowning complications. It looks like probably some sort of... infection? A really bad one at that. But from the looks of it hes really... malnourished, definitely fleas." Richard said pausing to swat at something on his arm. " And... oh... what the-"_

_"What?"_

_"B, its his stomach. Its swollen. Really badly."_

_Suddenly Damian yelped as Jason rolled over throwing up.  
_

_Wishing he could climb into the back seat himself, he kept his eyes on the road. The quicker they got there the better. "Tim, Report this to Leslie-"_

_"On it."_

_"And Alfred."_

_"Double on it."_

_"Mphglluh..." A strangle voice moaned suddenly stopping._

_"Oh @#$%. Stay with us Jaybird."_

_He pressed on the gas petal harder._

_"Okay, I'm going to have to start chest compressions. Pulse is dropping. Damian lay his head flat!"_

If **that** didn't speak testament to his failures, he didn't know what did. 

Here, his son was dying -which could have been prevented- and he had gone to nobody. Bruce Wayne, Messed up. Batman, Messed up. Him as a father, messed up.

Brushing a lock of Jason's hair, tinged with sweat and some mangled dried blood, he bit back a sob. Just what was going through Jason's mind? Did he even want to know?

Tracing the light scar on Jason's neck, he paused in his monotonous motion. In an odd wishful way, he wished he could fix all of this by kissing it better. Just like his parent's would do to make the problems of the world simply melt away. However this, this wasn't a problem he could just brush away, he -in his own anger- had hurt his son. Granted, his son was about to make a really stupid decision- but this, this scar was only skin deep to the depth of Jason's pain, and his own.

Jason had been physiologically hurt already, -he wasn't even aware as to how far that suffering went and all he had gone through- and he had made it worse, and that wasn't okay. The situation on his part, could have been handled a bit more tactfully he must admit.

Taking a deep breath, he choked on an intake of air as the bed shook.

"Jason?" He asked surprised.

Awake already?

Watching as Jason flung himself forward, he was quick to place a hand on Jason's back to support his broken ribs. Jason was also quick to fling him aside. 

"NO! No! NO! Please NOOO!"

"Jay!" 

"DON'T! GET AWAY!" Jason screamed beginning to jerk.

Bracing his hands on Jason's shoulders, he was swung side to side as Jason violently swung trying to hoist himself further. 

"Jay? Its alright. Calm down."

This is where he was now beginning to regret the ~~order~~ request that no one was to enter the room for any reason. That was so Jason wouldn't be overwhelmed, a bit of a misconstrued decision on his part he must now admit. 

Hopping onto the side of the bed, he sat one leg on one of Jason's arms. Didn't need any of the stitches pulled. Though at this point he suspected his attempt at avoiding such happens were undoubtedly futile.

Hearing Jason's wrist pop underneath his weight, he quickly pulled on a nearby restraint.

"Oh shoot. I- I'm sorry Jay. Its alright Jay. Shh. Its Alright."

Hurriedly moving off of Jason's arm, he applied the other restraint as Jason continued to scream.

The bedroom door began to knock with Alfred undoubtedly on the other side.

Jason's eyes darted wildly between the sobs, screams, and... begging.

With him failing Robin, failing Red Hood, he just... he refused to stand by and continue to fail his son. 

Wiping the tears off his sons face, he ignored the knocking on the door for now.

Unsure as what he could do, he began to place a temporary patch on Jason's wrist until he could assess it in more clarity.

"I'm so sorry son, I- I should have done better." 

Wrapping Jason's wrist with gauze, a soft whimper broke through the obsessive sobs.

"Dad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see this: ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з= ( ▀ ͜͞ʖ▀) =ε/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿  
> And my brain goes: JASON

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou for everyone who has taken the time to read this story! (づ￣ ³￣)づ  
> -  
> Disclaimer:  
> Now, Major stuff!  
> *Gets Bat-Mega Phone*  
> I DO NOT OWN DC!  
> I DO NOT OWN BATMAN OR ANY CHARACTERS AND/OR STORYLINES!  
> -  
> My Tumblr if yer interested:  
> WizzyPieHigh9 / ForgetCanon  
> ʘ‿ʘ  
> -  
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)  
> -  
> I do not own the random Derpy text faces. Btw... Just thought I'd point that out.  
> -  
> This Story is Currently in the works of gather resources... \ (•◡•) /  
> This Story is Currently "Still in Progress"... \ (•◡•) /
> 
> 💕 Also as a side note, the experiences and feelings that Jason is feeling in this story are at most not the way to properly deal with such issues. Get help if you feel this way. No one should every feel that way. Everyone's life is such precious gift worth living... Just wanted to say that... 🥰
> 
> YOU ARE LOVED!


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